


With These Hands

by Xela



Category: Psych
Genre: M/M, Obsession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-18
Updated: 2010-05-18
Packaged: 2017-10-14 13:26:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xela/pseuds/Xela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remembering everything only really, really sucks when something stands out.  Like Carlton's hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With These Hands

The thing about noticing and remembering everything is that it's all there later. It can't be forgotten or ignored, not for long. Shawn can put it off for a time when he's concentrating on something else. He's had a long time to learn how to sift through the important stuff. But when he's alone in a room with no defenses or distractions, he can't really help it.

The real reason Shawn doesn't usually go on a second date is that by the time he's supposed to call he's remembered a hundred little things about the person he never wanted to know. And it's annoying, but he's okay with it. But that's not the part that gets to him. It only really, really sucks when something stands out.

Like Carlton's hands.

Shawn whimpers, remembering the way Carlton's long fingers curls around the grip of his gun. The way he caresses the trigger lightly; he knows exactly how much pressure it takes to fire the gun. Shawn can see the tension in Carlton's hand, the play of muscle and tendons as he tracks the perp, prepared for recoil. Every tiny little adjustment: apparently his duty piece lists a little to the left because his stance quirks to compensate.

See, Shawn's photographic mind can turn a thirty second stand-off into high quality porn. Not that Shawn minds, since it's much cheaper and more satisfying that anything one can find on TV, except when it happens at inopportune moments.

One man _writing_ should not turn him on like this.

No, really. Carlton's filling out a booking report. If Shawn concentrates hard enough he can actually make out what Carlton's writing, but he keeps getting distracted by the way Carlton's thumb slides along the thin shaft of the pin, how his muscles bunch and twitch as he manipulates the utensil into forming sharp lines and precise curves.

Shawn invariably imagines those hands running over his body. That's where all these fantasies end, with Shawn on the receiving end of those beautiful, talented hands.

Right now, Shawn's indulging himself. Carlton would start at his throat, the pads of his fingers stroking lightly along his Adam's apple. Carlton would pause at his pulse point, something ingrained in him by his training, before moving down to Shawn's clavicle. He'd trace the delicate bone, maybe scrape his nails over the thin skin there, leaving light marks in his wake.

Shawn sucks in a shuddering breath and Carlton's writing falters as if he _knows._

From there, Carlton would brush over Shawn's shoulders, his palms cupping over the rounded planes and traveling down Shawn's arms.

Shawn imagines Carlton pinching his nipples lightly. Shawn's nipples aren't sensitive until you play with them, almost like coaxing the nerves into waking. Carlton's the kind of guy who takes his time. He's thorough and deliberate. He'll have Shawn shaking and arching underneath him in no time, dexterous fingers tracing patterns into Shawn's skin.

When he had Shawn writhing—and only then—Carlton will move on, tracing the contours of Shawn's torso, cataloguing each rib. He'd brush his knuckles over the soft curve of Shawn's belly, fingers flaring out as he moved downward. The back of Carlton's hand would be a little rougher than the palm, more textured and varied.

But all that is teasing and mockery, because Carlton has just gotten started. The hands, the touching, it's all foreplay and preludes. Carlton's going to continue working his way down, past the smooth slope of Shawn's hip, over his thighs and knobby knees. If Carlton's feeling particularly evil he'll rub his thumb along the arch of Shawn's foot. By this time, Shawn's entire body will be a giant powder keg, every touch a volatile spark along Shawn's nerves, none more so than his feet. (And if Carlton decides to take dastardly to a whole new level he'll make Shawn suffer through the whole process in reverse.)

Shawn shudders, a tingling sensation creeping along his spine.

“Spencer.” Shawn looks up into Carlton's face. From the way he stills and his pupils dilate Shawn must look as turned on as he feels. Shawn lets his eyes skip to Carlton's hands, currently curled into fists at his sides. Shawn imagines his nails biting into his palms, dark red half-moon crescents standing out in sharp relief against Carlton's pale skin. By the time Shawn drags his eyes back to Carlton's they're both panting.

“Yes, Carly?” Shawn rubs his thumb against his lower lip, not missing the way Carlton tracks the motion. Shawn figures this particular obsession is better when shared.

“I have an hour for lunch.”


End file.
